


Sweat and Tears

by idkwhattoputherebro



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idkwhattoputherebro/pseuds/idkwhattoputherebro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angsty, Sadstuck DirkRoxy/DirkJake/JakeJane. </p><p>He was only staying one week, one week and he could go back, but Roxy was crying and he was desperate, and her boyfriend was abusive. What else was he supposed to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweat and Tears

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this when I was feeling sad. It was a feelings jam, definitely. I probably won't update this often until I get Detention & Roxy Lalonde finished. Chapter Two might be up soon. Thanks!

You were only spending the week.

One week, and you’d be off, she’d stay at home and drink herself to death but that wasn’t your damn business. Nothing was your problem anymore, she could support herself, and she was in a relationship. Her boyfriend could take care of that emotional train wreck.   _Not you_ , you told yourself, _not your fucking problem_.

As soon as you opened the door, you could smell it. He knew the scent; it was unbearable, strong, disgusting, and god, just _get out of there_ because when that wall of fumes hit you, she came along. She would waltz in, clothes slipping off and face drenched in sweat, bottle dangling from her hand precariously, but she never dropped it. Alcohol was what kept her going; you couldn’t deny her that one pleasure in her life.

What you _wished_ you could rip out from the roots were the bruises. A small one just on her collarbone, the next day sporting a shiner, the next she was wearing heavy makeup with a limp. _It wasn’t fair_ , you thought, _she could do so much_ _better_.

She didn’t slink out from the shadows like some drunken monster, instead, you heard her, singing to herself, and your fucking heart actually _hurt._ When you were younger, she used to sing, sometimes humming while you walked home from school, because she had a song in her head and it was always happy, something upbeat and she’d skip along and you sometimes went to karaoke for the irony, and she always sang about good things and flowers, and love and friendship and now – if you could visualize the sound in your head, it would be gray and bleak – not uplifting like her usual bubbly self.

Following the noise, you spotted her slumped on her bed in her underwear, and wanted to vomit. Not from how sick she looked, not from the sheer amount of bottles littering her bed, but from all the _scars._ Some weren’t from herself – some were deep, dark, just then healing, from fingernails and being hit while wearing those godforsaken _fucking_ rings – you took a shaky breath and sat down next to her. When she saw you, her face instantly lit up, and she propped herself up on an elbow, fair hair in her face and obscuring her cheeky grin.

“Dirky! Stay, come drink with me!” How she managed to sling an arm around your waist and rest her head against it you would never know, but one thing you did know was that you absolutely did _not,_ under any circumstances, drink. As sad as you were to admit it, the way it made Roxy had shied you away from ever taking as much as a sip.

“Rolal, you know I don’t drink.” Your hand went to her hair, pulling through the tangled curls as she huffed.

“Well you should, maybe it would _loosen you up_.” She jabbed you in the ribs with a long fingernail with those last words, and you sighed, pulling a blanket over her body. You didn’t need to see that right now. “You know what we haven’t been over? The _real_ reason why I drink.” She dragged out the ‘real,’ before bursting into giggles, landing her head in your lap and grinning at you. Dear god – how did you not notice that? Her lip was swollen, recently burst open and blood smeared across her chin, mixed with the beer she pulled a drink from.

“For fuck’s sake, Roxy.” You delicately drag your thumb across her mouth, and when she flinches, pull your hand away and wipe the mess on your jeans.

“The real reason, Dirk! _Real reason!”_ Fuck, if she was that eager to tell you, you should just listen. Just grin and bear it, for her sake, because if there was any gauge of how soon she would pass out, you’d judge it on the two flasks lying out, and the empty six-pack on the floor.

“Do you think you know what that is?” Your voice is softer now, and as you go to tug her beer out of her hand, she shakes herself out of the blanket, standing up, surprisingly enough, without a wobble, but – oh, god, those _scars –_ you can’t bring yourself to look at them, the guilt wrenching in your stomach makes you want to vomit.

“Because of _guys like you.”_ What? You wanted to scream at her, grab her by the arms and shake her and say she only drinks because of guys like her dick boyfriend, but you couldn’t lay a finger on her with the way she was now, shaking, breathing heavily, visibly _upset_ and you couldn’t stand that she was angry with you.

“Rolal, what do you mean?” Because he liked boys? Was that it? He never wanted to hurt her, he couldn’t live with himself if he ever had, he already wanted to bring a gun to his head and pull the trigger, because a tear slipped down her cheek and god, he _loved_ her, just not like that. “Because I’m into guys?”

She adjusted herself, rolling those deliciously pink eyes before crossing her arms and setting the beer to the side. “Ding ding ding ding!” Her already sarcastic grin fell, and she took a deep breath. “No. I want to take an absolutely _wild_ guess.”

“What else is there?” You could hear the desperation in your voice, holy shit you were pathetic, you just wanted her to sit down so you could hold her and calm her down, but she took a step back, back hitting her dresser.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ dense. Let’s go back to when I was the ripe age of fifteen, why don’t we?” All signs of being drunk were gone now, crossing her arms over her chest with a deep breath.

“Alright, let’s.” You lean forward, chin in your hands, watching her carefully. One wrong move and your relationship would be in more shambles than it already was.

Taking another breath, god, you could tell that hurt because of the flinch in her eyes, she settled her gaze on you, seemingly less furious than before. “I obviously hit on you pretty hard back then, true or false?” When she blew her hair from her face, you could see another scratch, just on her forehead – fuck.

“True, what of it?” You remembered those days with a grim fondness, when she was so drunk she could barely spell or speak – was that his fault? No, you couldn’t take it being your fault, _fuck._

“I also called you out on bein’ gay a lot, true or false?”

“True.” You hated that term with a burning passion. Why put labels on things? Can’t he just love who he loves, and get married and have kids and _fuck_ you were trailing off, she’d put down her beer and was shifting back and forth on her legs, you could tell she was sore, testing them out with a small flex of her calf. You rubbed your eyes beyond the glasses, peeved.

“And it never occurred to you, ‘Wow! Her feelings could really get hurt in the long run, let’s set things in stone from here on out so this doesn’t evolve into fucking _trust problems_ so the poor girl can’t be in a relationship with someone who loves her!’ See where I’m _goin’_ with this?” She was actually crying, now, tears coming down her cheeks endlessly, _no, stop, don’t cry Roxy._ You wanted to stand up and hold her and apologize, but you couldn’t because you were starting to see the error of your ways and you couldn’t stand it, you wanted to scream to heavens and sling yourself into hell.

You took off your shades, placing them on the bed, blinking furiously. “I just figured you already knew, with you much you said it –“ _Stop bullshitting, Dirk,_ you thought, _you’re just making up excuses._

“I wanted you to give it to me straight, Dirk!” No, she was screaming _fucking stop screaming, Rox._ “Is that too much to ask?” No, it wasn’t, please, don’t be mad. “I was drunk out of my fucking _mind_ and you just let me sit there and look stupid!” You aren’t stupid, Rolal, please, just try to understand. “I wanted you to be a good friend!” Fuck, you tried, you really did.

You could see now that you were failing because you raised your voice at her, standing and towering. Despite the height difference, she still tried to intimidate you, and you could really see how much sleep she hadn’t been getting this close. “Maybe I didn’t have it straight, did you ever think of that?” Shit, don’t yell that loud, she’s flinching back – but she came back, her face dangerously close to yours, and despite the smell of vodka and beer and sweat, you caught a whiff of her cherry perfume, god that shit was intoxicating. She balled her hands into fists at her sides, shrieking. “Stop bein’ so _goddamn confusin’, Dirk!”_

“Do you think I can fucking help it?” It was more of a question aimed at you than her, and she shrank back, chest collapsing and expanding rapidly as tears fell down her face, she was in no state to argue when she was crying this hard, or this _drunk._ She hugged herself, sobbing, and you could tell it hurt crying like that with so many bruises and cuts because when her face started to fall, it contorted, and it hurt you so bad, you wanted to die. No one deserved this, especially Roxy. She was a beautiful girl, she used to have a light, and now her boyfriend hit her around for kicks and the one person she thought she could trust was screaming at her.

“Fuck, Roxy, listen.” You tried to calm down, you really did, but you couldn’t help but be _so fucking angry_ you weren’t getting through to her. Why did girls have to be so sensitive? You could argue like this with Jake all day and neither of you would snap. You were jelly in the middle now, balling your hands into fists and releasing them in a feeble attempt. “I never wanted to hurt you. I just…wasn’t sure…” was he really coming clean on this now? His throat was clenched with anxiety. “I wasn’t sure at the time, not completely.” Was he even sure now?

She stopped hugging herself, and god, her arms were marked from razors and knives, and you wanted to jump up and run your fingers along them and whisper a million apologies and stroke her hair because you knew she loved you to pieces when you did that, but she was so upset, she just shook her head and grabbed her beer from the dresser and took a drink. “Whatever. Doesn’t make a difference fightin’ about it now, anyway.” She had just dug a hole in your chest and ripped out your heart, you were so desperate for her acceptance.

“Rolal, I’m sorry, okay?” You were standing up now, ready to embrace her and things would be fine, but they really weren’t now, she was already starting to drink again, despite your presence.

“Don’t apologize,” she murmured, looking down at the ground instead of up at you. Even though her face had all those bruises, she was still so _pretty_ and you wanted her to look at you with all the passion in the world. “I’ll just have another drink, its fine.”

“Fuck, Roxy! That’s not healthy!” He slapped the bottle from her hands, and it shattered on the hardwood floors, and she gripped his wrist, anger ablaze.

“What else am I supposed to do about it?” Instead of yelling, her voice was just above a whisper, you could tell she was about to cry again, she was swallowing hard.

“Face your problems! Don’t fucking drink them away!” No, don’t – she was staring at you with watery eyes, sniffling, and you just fucking felt _awful_ even though you were sincerely trying your hardest to help her.

“How am I supposed to face my problem when it’s you?” God, it would’ve hurt less to be stabbed in the chest with a lance.

You gave in, and held her, pressing her damp cheek to your chest, and she started to whimper, her hands soft as a breath as she hugged you back, and her arms around your waist felt so damn good after all that arguing. Your hand was in her hair, shaking loose the curls and smell of strawberry shampoo. Leading her to the bed, you sat down, and her legs were in your lap, she was balled up like a child in your arms, and you pressed your lips to the top of her head, squeezing her for reassurance, trying to get it through to her you didn’t want to argue.

She pulled back, cheeks red, and _fuck, don’t do it, Roxy,_ but it was too late, she had pressed her lips against yours, and you didn’t want to upset her, so you let her do it, and her mouth was soft and gentle, and you forgot the last time you’d been kissed so earnestly. She dropped her head down as soon as she had started, breathing normally again, arms still hooked around your waist, and you were tired after all that yelling, so you fell to the side, into a pillow, Roxy turning to face you.

Stop with that goddamn _look,_ Roxy. She was so beautiful, with her small nose and full lips, and those dimples and her eyes and her hair and _fuck_ you were having a crisis but when were you not around her? No, no, not again – she had closed her mouth against yours, arms around your neck, and she tasted bittersweet, and you couldn’t believe this was fucking happening, especially with a girl. You wanted forgiveness, you wanted her, but most of all you wanted to _stop_ but it was impossible, her tongue was slow and it felt so wrong and so right. Beyond your hands was her skin, and it was soft and smooth and you were guilty as charged for enjoying this, where was a gun when you needed one, to take yourself out for doing something that went against your every fiber?

Her hands were small and delicate, and her nails as she slipped under your shirt to scrape along your ribs felt so damn good. You did the same, tracing her side, and she turned her head and you deepened the kiss, what the hell were you doing? But when she moaned into your mouth, you lost it, and your hand slipped down, tucking itself against her backside in those underwear, _fuck_ those drove you crazy with all the lace. She pulled away for breath, and her look said the same thing. _Was this really happening?_ You nodded and pulled her down for another kiss, you weren’t making things better, they would be clouded and you hated it, and your shirt was gone and lost on the floor and it couldn’t have mattered less because her bra was gone too, just as useless as it was before. The feel of her chest against yours was unreal, you’d never been with a woman before and you were questioning that with what little amount of rationality you had left. She was drugging you senseless with her mouth, and her hands, one in your hair and the other in your pants, but it was all right because you were doing the same. Even though you’d never been with a girl, you still knew the basics and you were nervous in all the right ways and she must’ve thought your clumsy touches were endearing because every now and then she’d break your intimate meeting with a smile to instruct you with a heated whisper in your ear.

And _fuck,_ the way her curves filled your hands was unreal, and your pants were gone, tossed off the bed, and her legs were so smooth, and she trapped you against her body when you rolled, and then her underwear were gone, and you was starting to feel nervous because you didn’t know what to _do,_ and she mumbled to you, tracing your jaw, and with that kiss you could taste the fresh wound on her lip. A woman was so _gorgeous_ you couldn’t understand, it was clouding your thoughts and then you couldn’t think at all as you entered her and all you could feel was _her,_ pressed against you and you could taste her moans and her fingerprints, and her cherry perfume, and when she scratched down your back, you pressed harder, testing, and when she didn’t pull back, was enthralled. When she emitted cries, you were turned on, you wanted to go crazy and absolutely _ravish_ her. The tugs at your hair, when she locked you in with her ankles and _begged,_ you were going crazy, it was feverish and _fuck,_ Jake would be so mad but it didn’t matter, because you had no grip on reality right now.

Her name, you breathed it, it was a part of your core, and she was panting, scratching, tugging, holding your wrists hard enough to break them but any pain didn’t matter because all this pleasure was overriding it. It was like this was wired into your code, you were working on sheer instinct, and she was done, curling her toes and screaming but you weren’t just finished with her yet. She was still sensitive, and pulled you down and moaned in your ear and when she breathed your name that did it – you were done, you were euphoric, it was bliss. You were left clutching at shreds of reality, and wondering if you should have used protection and she must’ve been thinking the same thing because she murmured that she was on the pill and rolled over, tucking herself against you.

With a face full of strawberry curls, you kissed the back of her neck and took her hand, pressing your lips against the scars that laid there, ghosting over fresh wounds, trailing this ritual up her arm. When you had shown an adequate amount of love to her imperfections that were anything but, you switched arms, eyes locked on her face the whole time. She was staring at you questioningly before she started to smile, shaking her head. She was crying for a good reason, now, disbelief and love and friendship and the poor girl, you felt so bad you’d taken advantage of her and you had a fucking _boyfriend_ but it didn’t matter, because all that mattered was her and her breath against your nose, and those dimples when she smiled, and as you pushed your mouth against the bruise on her collarbone, she pulled you up for air and took it all away again with a kiss, and this time, instead of alcohol, her breath tasted of you and salty tears, and you were just fine with that. 


End file.
